


superstar

by HUSHHHUSHHUSH



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, pretend i tagged this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:30:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HUSHHHUSHHUSH/pseuds/HUSHHHUSHHUSH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dave notices things and gets sad and then moves on and things happen</p>
            </blockquote>





	superstar

He should've known that morning was going to be the start of a bad day.

Of a horrible day. 

He woke up, the bed was empty, and Superstar by Sonic Youth was on the radio.

Nothing good ever happens when that song is playing.

Dave hissed through his teeth, scrunching his eyes closed and curling up on his side, willing away the bad juju. Tried to logic past the superstition; it was just a song. A really shitty song by a shitty band. Dumb. 

Meaningless. Didn't signify or symbolise or whatever else people pull out their ass in english class a fucking thing.

He took in a breath. Held it. Yoga'd himself into false courage and sat up, kept his eyes closed, but his feet on the floor. 

In his mind, he went over the layout of the room; bed shoved into a corner, almost against the wall but there was a shoddy nightstand between the two; in front of him the dresser and closet, and then to his left, the door.

Simple. Small. Nothing bad at all. He couldn't smell fire; his phone hadn't gone off, everything was fine. Pristine.

He opened his eyes. 

Something was off. He put it off to his silly worries; Superstar still dinged along in the background. He fought off the urge to shut it off out of stubborness; he wouldn't let Sonic fucking Youth bring him down. He was better than that.

He stood, walked to the dresser, wiggled it a bit. Some of the things that were usually on top were missing; maybe there had been an earthquake. He looked on the ground, under the dresser. And started to panic.

They were all John's things.

John wasn't in bed; Dave stayed on his belly, facing the underneath of the dresser. He stilled and listened for any sort of indication of life in the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room.

Nothing. Just pipes rattling when someone upstairs turned on the sink.

He could feel himself go cold. Felt that panic set in; that denial. He stood again, fighting against any quick movement and instead moved deliberately slow. He opened the top drawer, the one designated for John since he was taller. 

Empty save for an old receipt to Target. It was for normal things; a thing of socks, some cereal, pine-sol for when he cleaned the kitchen last. 

Dave crumpled it up, kept it in his fist and shut the drawer slowly, softly. 

Superstar kept on going; the almost lazy, breathy words still flowing in the air; twirling, spinning, taunting.

His mouth felt dry. He walked to the kitchen, legs stiff yet knees weak. 

_Don't you remember you loved me, baby?_

He reached into the cupboard, grabbed a bowl. Ignored how shaky his hands were, how much time he had to take to set it on the counter without making an obscene amount of noise. He concentrated on his breathing; on normalacy. On going to the pantry and getting the box of Rice Krispies, of pouring them into the bowl, counting out every single little thing of Krispied Rice fell into the bowl. He stopped at five hundred, he wasn't that hungry anyway. 

He bit down on his tongue when he sprinkled the sugar onto the cereal; the sugar that was next to the coffee machine. That wasn't even there. John was the one that drank coffee. Dave never did; drinking coffee in Texas was ridiculous in the summer. He never got used to the taste, never really wanted to.

On his way to put it back, he dropped the thing; the glass cracking and then breaking, sending little shards of sharp to every corner of the dinky kitchen and sugar even farther. 

He shook as he walked to the broom closet, grabbing the broom and dustpan and sucking in huge breaths, fighting. Fighting, fighting, fighting. He was fine. Everything was okay. 

He could live, move on. Even though his heart was in his throat, choking him. Strangling him and killing him with it's pain, how it was ripped in five different pieces and each were connected into this chain of broken hate, wrapping around his neck. His face was pale and the world was spinning, but he bent down to sweep the mess into the dustpan anyway. Because he was okay.

God dammit, he was okay. 

He dumped the sugar and glass into the bin, dropping the whole dustpan in and left the broom next to it. He could buy a new one if he ended up forgetting it was in there.

Going back to focusing on breathing, he kept with the same rate. In, onetwothree, out. In, onetwothree, out. He grabbed the milk and poured it into his cereal, setting it on the counter. 

He stood there for twenty minutes. 

Doing nothing.

Arms braced on the counter, hands gripping the edge until the knuckles were white.

Doing nothing but staring at the cereal.

Listening to Superstar end and the Krispies snap, crackle, and pop.

**Author's Note:**

> this story aka i need to work on more long-term fics so here's "sadstuck" aka i put it in quotes because it probably isn't even sad  
> dave is my emotional baby because fuck you i can make him a deep character if i want flips off the world backflips into the sun  
> i barely have this outlined in my head but the next chapter is kind of typed up............ kind of  
> i didn't even read over this it's basically vomit  
> its only 800 words i'm sor ry i can't do long chapters O-|-


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